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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27657698">persimmon season</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sannlykke/pseuds/sannlykke'>sannlykke</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Post-Canon, Reunions, Snow Day</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:33:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,438</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27657698</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sannlykke/pseuds/sannlykke</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The breakup hadn’t been bad, per se. It could hardly have been anything the way it ended.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Akashi reaches out to touch the maple in front of the house, its last leaves dangling helplessly in the breeze. Mayuzumi takes out his phone—to jot down notes, as he does. A single leaf symbolizes loneliness, footsteps in the snow are foreboding. Silly things that he doesn’t quite know why he still keeps track of when he has not written anything worth publishing in such a long time. </p>
</blockquote>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Akashi Seijuurou/Mayuzumi Chihiro</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>persimmon season</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>before the world went to shit i visited <a href="https://www.japanvisitor.com/kyoto/miyama">miyama</a> last year and wanted to write a fic about it, i guess. i also kept thinking about <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lRkTOx2WwTU">this piece</a> as i was finishing up the fic, whatever that means. it's been a while!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Winter had come early this year, coating the mountain with a fine dusting of white.</p>
<p>Sometimes Mayuzumi thinks about moving again. Somewhere down south, maybe, where the temperatures are milder, the snow nonexistent, things move slower. It's a pipe dream, of course; he has trouble enough convincing himself to soak up some sunshine here.</p>
<p>In the passenger seat Akashi is watching the trees fly by. They have been driving for an hour now, crawling along the outskirts of a congested downtown Kyoto and past the initial stretch of the 162. The road is barren for the time of day, save for the occasional minivan that passes them. He seems frozen solid to the seat, eyes fixed to the ever-changing landscape. Almost worthy of some sort of cover for one of those high-brow art films.</p>
<p>The trees grow closer together, the road steeper. Mayuzumi does not turn on the radio.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The visitors’ parking lot is mostly empty when they arrive. Good, Mayuzumi thinks; he hates crowded places, especially here, where throngs of tourists would really do a number on the peace and quiet. Then: <em> well, I guess we’re alone. </em></p>
<p>“Chihiro?”</p>
<p>His hand stops midway towards the seatbelt buckle. It’s the first time Akashi’s spoken all day. Mayuzumi meets his gaze reluctantly, half-expecting some kind of reproach there. </p>
<p>“Are you tired?”</p>
<p><em> Click</em>. The seatbelt comes loose around his shoulders, sliding neatly back into place. He wishes he’d brought a warmer coat.</p>
<p>“No,” Mayuzumi replies. “Let’s go.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The breakup hadn’t been <em> bad</em>, per se. It could hardly have been anything the way it ended.</p>
<p>From the parking lot, it is a small walk along some shopfronts lining the river to the cluster of houses that make up the village proper. Most of the shops are closed or seem close to being so, despite it being hardly three. Thursday afternoons must all look like this, one way or another.</p>
<p>Mayuzumi counts at least three advertisements for soft serve: honeycomb, matcha, plain milk. He does not stop to investigate further, not from the cold, but Akashi’s footsteps are quick, just as he remembers them to be. Always one step ahead.</p>
<p>The thatched roofs grow taller as they approach. Of course, they are not <em> really </em> the only ones here. You can never be alone in a tourist destination nowadays, no matter how remote or peaceful or strange. On the other side of the bridge there is a mother pointing at the last of the season’s persimmons, holding up her child to touch a golden-hued fruit. Mayuzumi wonders if the trees belong to the town, or if they’d been there all along.</p>
<p>He doesn’t see the crack in the pavement before it’s too late, and Mayuzumi goes down, arms swinging, undignified. Or he would have, if someone hadn’t caught his arm in time, pulling him back.</p>
<p>“Watch where you’re going,” Akashi chastises, gently.</p>
<p>“I’m old,” Mayuzumi grumbles.</p>
<p>“I know.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In novels the countryside is idyllic escape: the protagonist returns home to help his grandmother make bread, or labor in his uncle’s barn, and he learns the meaning of life, or something. He then returns to Tokyo with purpose in his chest, or jumps through a portal in time, and the knowledge of how to make bread helps him get a girl, destroys the big bad, or achieves some otherwise banal ending.</p>
<p>Mayuzumi doesn’t care about happy endings. The taste of custard in his mouth is too sweet, but before he knows it he is already scraping the bottom.</p>
<p>The cafe is warm and smells of yuzu jam. They aren’t the only customers; a college-aged couple are looking through their phones the next table over, and a young woman is sipping on tea by the door, her face buried in an architecture magazine. Little puffs of steam are still wafting from Akashi’s cup of coffee, but he has barely touched it.</p>
<p>Like clockwork. Mayuzumi sighs and nudges it towards him. “Just because you have money to waste—”</p>
<p>“Chihiro.” </p>
<p>He shuts up. Akashi takes a sip, closing his eyes. It’s one of those times—he looks at once thirty-two and twenty, and Mayuzumi isn’t sure what about that sends ripples through him. Something familiar and not all at once.</p>
<p>They did not have much time to do these kinds of dates back then. It seems like three lifetimes ago now, those nights staying up too late and wondering if his Internet was fizzling out from the shitty dorm connection. Akashi’s face a blur on the screen, on the other side of the country, murmuring something about his classes as they fell asleep to the white noise in the background. The static cackle was a comfort, a signal of sorts.</p>
<p>Maybe this was all a mistake, but it’s too late now: Akashi’s put down his mug, and the yellow lighting of the room seems to soften the edges of his face. It must be the cold, Mayuzumi thinks: the brush of pink across Akashi’s nose, only visible now indoors, the drowsiness that swims in front of his own eyes as he meets Akashi’s gaze again. The years had changed little about the knowing that inhabits the space between them, even if he wants to think otherwise.</p>
<p>“You probably need this more than I do.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, probably.”</p>
<p>It’s not a win, not even by a little bit, but Mayuzumi finishes the drink, bitter grounds and all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The streets can hardly be called that here, narrow and meandering through the tiny village proper. A plaque in front of this house announces the history of the mountains. A statuette in front of that one tells the story of the river.</p>
<p>Mayuzumi leans forward for a closer look at the plaque, and realizes a light snow has begun to fall.</p>
<p>“Oh.”</p>
<p>“Chihiro?”</p>
<p>“Nothing.”</p>
<p>Akashi reaches out to touch the maple in front of the house, its last leaves dangling helplessly in the breeze. Mayuzumi takes out his phone—to jot down notes, as he does. A single leaf symbolizes loneliness, footsteps in the snow are foreboding. Silly things that he doesn’t quite know why he still keeps track of when he has not written anything worth publishing in such a long time. </p>
<p>It is only after he snaps the picture that he notices a few of Akashi’s fingers had strayed into the focus of the camera. He says nothing, but Akashi has already pulled back, regarding the tree with something like wonder. Mayuzumi wonders how much time he has to look outside his office each day, before being chauffeured off to another location without so much as a glance towards the blooming trees in the expansive courtyard down below. He’s not sure if Akashi still goes into the office at that place, really.</p>
<p>Thin snowflakes melt into the fabric of his coat, the wool of his gloves. Akashi asks then, quietly, “Do you want to walk by the river?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Mayuzumi had briefly thought about moving to Fujisawa seven years ago. It was close enough to Tokyo that he could hop on the train and experience the city when he wanted to, and far enough from the throngs that crowd the Shonan coastline every summer. It was also too hot, too far from anything he knew, too—</p>
<p>It was the summer Akashi left for Barcelona. Mayuzumi remembers sitting alone in the Shinkansen, in a seat too expensive for his taste and his wallet, watching everything fly by rapidly as the train approached Tokyo. Walking past the crowds towards the platform, taking the local line towards Odawara, standing and watching the sunset color the high-rise <em> danchi </em> gold.</p>
<p>He doesn’t remember how long he stood at the harbor. He doesn’t remember sadness, or saying anything, or taking notes, that day. It was just him and the sky, and thoughts of far away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s quite nice here.”</p>
<p>There aren’t any steps for them to go down—safety precautions, perhaps. It’s the kind of river that villagers would casually fish in during the summer while their kids splash around in the shallows. Mayuzumi could still see water moving; it hasn’t completely frozen over.</p>
<p>“You think?”</p>
<p>Akashi raises an eyebrow; <em> shit</em>. “Well, this was your idea.”</p>
<p>“...Yeah, I know.”</p>
<p>All the questions he wants to ask—<em> why did you agree to come? Did you really think this was a good idea? Should I just jump into the river right now, before I embarrass myself even more? </em>—never make it further than the tip of his tongue. Mayuzumi instead pushes a dried leaf off the wooden fence, watching it flutter downwards and land on a sheet of ice. </p>
<p>If they owe each other anything—and Mayuzumi knows he doesn’t—he isn’t in any rush to pay it back, or anything.</p>
<p>“It’s nice to be back for good.” Akashi says. He isn’t looking at the leaf. “We have a lot to catch up on.”</p>
<p>He says it so casually Mayuzumi does not register it, at first. It is not a poor choice of words, as Akashi would never commit such an error; rather Mayuzumi has a poor track record of taking them in entirely the wrong fashion.</p>
<p>“Really.” He turns towards Akashi, scraping flakes of ice off the wood as he does so. “I was under the impression that isn’t the case.”</p>
<p>“It is the case,” Akashi replies. He doesn’t sound agitated, but Mayuzumi knows that tone. Missed it, even, all the way up to now. “I know we did not—leave things off at a good place.” </p>
<p>There were always going to be expectations going into this type of relationship. He had known this from the start, and yet. Mayuzumi hates tiptoeing around these things—perhaps ironic given what he was like in high school, college, then well into his career. Even now, seven years onward.</p>
<p>He has two seconds, maybe less, to make this something other than a shitty soap opera interlude. Something like, say, <em> do you know how much I missed you? </em> Or <em> we don’t have anything to talk about anymore</em>.</p>
<p>“I just wanted to see you again,” he says, finally, the truth. “That’s all. That’s—it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Mayuzumi had not broken things off over text; he was not a complete asshole. He might be worse than that, all things considered. He had called Akashi at his London flat at three in the afternoon and listened to the dial tone drone on for what seemed like hours before saying, “Look, I don’t think this is working anymore.”</p>
<p>
  <em> For me, or for you? </em>
</p>
<p>There were a million reasons he could list: <em> we’re too busy, we’re not making time for each other, we’re living in different worlds now, you and me</em>. He slept far too little and spent far too long staring into his work instead of at the space there once was next to him. Akashi was doing what people like him do halfway around the world, consolidating, talking business, whatever it was Mayuzumi had long stopped pretending he cared about. That was fine. They didn’t have to look too deeply into each others’ work—but then it was not fine. </p>
<p>A sigh, imperceptibly heavy. “...I think that may be for the best.”</p>
<p>And that was that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In the present, the river is still running, the snow is still falling, and Akashi is still standing there, hands in pockets, looking at Mayuzumi with the kind of expression that reads <em> I knew that all along, but then again</em>.</p>
<p>“So did I,” he says softly. “So here I am.”</p>
<p>This is the part in the novels where the protagonists break down crying into each others’ arms. Someone apologizes. Someone promises to change their ways. Maybe it’s not accepted right away, but it’s always the beginning of the end. The weather symbolizes forgiveness, or hopelessness, depending on who wants it. They would walk away towards the sunrise, hands brushing against one another, will-they-or-won’t-they. A melancholy but hopeful ending.</p>
<p>Mayuzumi could go on like this forever, in his head. Every little scenario that could lead into intricate forked paths that split into non-resolution, days and months and years from now. What good does it do? What good <em> did </em> it do?</p>
<p>“Here you are,” he says. He takes in all of Akashi: his hair a slightly darker shade of red than Mayuzumi remembers, his face sharper now, his eyes still searching for something in Mayuzumi’s own. Lips parted not in a way to invite Mayuzumi in for a kiss, but for an answer. The answer, he realizes, that had accompanied him to this place all along. <em> Of course, I’ll come</em>. “Did you find what you were looking for?”</p>
<p>Real life is not a novel. It could be much less, or much more; or it could stay the same, slightly erring from the trajectory of a perfectly mundane conclusion. </p>
<p>Akashi says, so softly that Mayuzumi does not hear him at first, “Yes, I think so.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The houses behind them, dotting the hillside, are shaped like hands in prayer. Prayer for a good harvest, an early spring. For good health and short partings, for sunny skies. </p>
<p>They have ice cream in the parking lot before leaving: matcha for Akashi, plain milk for Mayuzumi. The road back is slightly more congested than it had been earlier, as night nears and more people start their long trek back home. Akashi turns on the radio (“Anything’s fine,” Mayuzumi says, “Just don’t kill my ears.”) and the way home is accompanied by the soft murmur of the piano, probably Rachmaninoff, not that Mayuzumi had ever taken much note of what he listens to.</p>
<p>Mayuzumi returns the rental near the train station. They have dinner inside, at a nameless ramen stand, and he watches Akashi slurp down his broth with some amusement. It is warm inside, and part of him thinks if he were to open his mouth now he would never shut up again.</p>
<p>“Your legs aren’t sore?” he asks instead.</p>
<p>“I exercise regularly,” Akashi murmurs, raising an eyebrow at Mayuzumi, and he shuts up. But he is also smiling as he says, “Thank you for the concern.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>By the time he gets home, another thirty minutes later, there is already a new message waiting for him: <em> I’m home</em>. </p>
<p><em> I’m home</em>, Mayuzumi types back. He puts his coat on the coat-hanger and thinks briefly about passing out on the floor, though the reality of going back to work tomorrow snaps him out of it. </p>
<p>He goes into the shower thinking about sleepy towns and sunset seas. About trees with a single stubborn leaf fluttering in the wind. About rivers that don’t quite freeze entirely even in winter. </p>
<p>
  <em> It was good seeing you today. </em>
</p>
<p>He sends it without thinking, this time.</p>
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